


So take my hand and home we'll go

by thepeopleofvictory



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dream AU, F/F, I'll add the tags as I think of them lel, Supernatural Elements, it's horror but it's not horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeopleofvictory/pseuds/thepeopleofvictory
Summary: Lexa has increasingly concerning nightmares. She will wake up in the middle of the night confused, squinting through the darkness infinitely certain that something is about to jump out at her. Beside her Clarke will be sleepy and confused and will attempt to pull her in closer. The room will be dark and blue and everything and nothing. And Lexa will feel horribly alone.She doesn’t understand why she’s afraid, or what she's afraid of.---or just the 'dream au'---





	1. Chapter 1

Lexa has increasingly concerning nightmares. She will wake up in the middle of the night confused and afraid, squinting through the darkness infinitely certain that something is about to jump out at her. Beside her Clarke will be sleepy and confused and will attempt to pull her in closer. The room will be dark and blue and everything and nothing. And Lexa will feel horribly alone.

 

And she doesn’t understand why she’s afraid.

 

The dreams don’t bother lingering - dissipating the moment she opens her eyes, leaving the breathless fear. It happens often. Too often, that Clarke has taken to leaving a candle flickering in the corner of their bedroom, fire hazard be damned. In the mornings she will have forgotten about how she waited, patient, excited, for a creaking door. Or how she stared out of their bedroom window expecting for someone to stare back.

 

Clarke gives her space, on days when all Lexa does is hear noises that aren’t there. Clarke doesn’t bring anything up, doesn’t push her. But Lexa thinks it’s beginning to feel like she’s keeping a secret.

  

\----

 

 “Let’s go out for dinner tonight?”

 

Clarke hums in agreement, tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she attempts to spread the jam evenly onto her toast. And Lexa feels terrible for being distant and confused, for messing up their routine and muddling the way they intertwine. When Clarke successfully creates her perfect sandwich, she beams, twinkly and bright, and Lexa falls a little harder, watching her pack their lunch so tenderly. The city is vibrant, a blur of colours in the streets below as cars whizz by. Their apartment is cozy and sweet. She is happy. But why is something wrong.

 

“You know,” Clarke says, her voice much nearer than expected. Fingers brush against the back of her neck, jolting her, and she feels Clarke gently playing with the strands of baby hair, an apology. “We could go to the park after, the one you love so much.”

 

“Not as much as I love you.”

 

The beauty of Clarke’s chuckle gets covered, muffled, when Lexa sees a face, an extra face, in the reflection of their kitchen window. She can feel the throaty giggle from where she's seated, shoulder pressed against the side of Clarke's waist. But her ears seem to have started ringing, her eyes locked onto a moving figure in the reflection.

 

"Flatterer."

 

She blinks. And the gaunt, pale face in the window is gone.

 

Her heart clenches. She misses it.

 

Why does she miss it.

 

\----

  

Dinner is an overwhelming success.

 

Clarke has a delicate bun, curled and pretty, and the way the light in the restaurant shimmers across the angles of her face makes Lexa feel as if she's with an angel.

 

They chat and talk and Lexa blatantly ignores the figure crouched at the corner of her eye. It's grey and dripping and all Lexa wants to do is to focus on her girlfriend for the entirety of their date.

 

Clarke fights to pay for the bill, and they have a playful tussle over who gets to take out their wallets. It's light, airy, happy.

 

The waiter compliments their relationship.

 

"Relationship goals, the both of you," he exclaims. Lexa agrees.

 

 

But. The park. It's secluded and empty and dark. They walk between the trees, silent, soothing. Except for the ringing in Lexa's ears.

 

There's something she needs to remember. Some rule. A rule? Maybe? There isn't any wind but the trees seem to be swaying, beckoning, leaves rustling. It's too loud.

 

"Do not talk to the trees," she blurts. _They know. They listen._ She knows that. How does she know that.

 

Clarke tilts her head, confused. Neither of them were talking. By the time Lexa's blush dissipates, she's already forgotten why they can't speak to trees. Clarke doesn't bring it up, she never does. She instead links their arms together to rest her head on Lexa's shoulder. It's peaceful.

 

But Lexa can't help but feel something staring.

 

She tries to peek, to the corner, where the lights are hazy and the park seems to blend into the night, but there's nothing there. _Curious_. Lexa swore there was something in the trees. Somethings. Up in the branches and watching them. With a final glance at the darkness, she tugs Clarke in closer, soothed by her warmth. She tries to ignore the painful itch between her ribs at the sight of the darkness in the trees.

 

It's probably just stress.

 

\----

 

Lexa thinks she is beginning to remember more. She stops actively avoiding the darkness in their storage room, or blinking rapidly at the windows, or downing energy drinks instead of sleeping.

 

And once she's accepted the fact that maybe she isn't going insane, the clench in her heart eases. But instead the itch spreads. Although, she probably should not call it an itch, not when it's something she can't satiate. It's gnawing, fluctuating, in her chest, as though it's trying to pull her in a certain direction. Lexa doesn't know what to do with the itch, neither does she know what to do with the pair of eyes that follows her everywhere.

 

She writes her experiences down in a little moleskine journal she'd found in the bottom drawer of her office desk, even attempting to sketch out the things she sees in her dreams. Maybe if she's brave enough, Lexa thinks she will give the journal to Clarke as a form of explanation. Her written words are easier to digest than if she had to run it through her voice.

 

\----

 

Horror is just a genre in movies. Horror isn’t her childhood.

 

The new world has an abundance of horror movies, ranging from documentary style films with enormous budgets, to amateur, shaky-cameras filming an empty street at night. What they all have in common is the jumpscare tactics. The people in the city do not believe in ghosts. It’s not tactile, not scientific, and is only used as a means for money.

 

She and Clarke have taken to weekly movie nights. It happens every Friday evening. After a week's worth of work and grating obligations, they settle together in the lumpy couch that Clarke adores and have a movie date, pressed against the other, soft and warm and comfortable.

 

Lately, all they've been watching are horror movies. She wants to scoff at the shrill screams of the protagonists when they encounter any form of supernatural because of their dumb actions.

 

"Stupid," Clarke will say, tucked into her side, fidgety in anticipation, "just leave." Lexa agrees.

 

Oftentimes Lexa wants to grab the characters by their shoulders and tell them to stop. If you don't bother them they won't bother you. And the protagonists are often grating and rude and disrespectful - Lexa doesn't blame the spirits for coming after them.

 

"Just leave," Clarke repeats. "Leave and never look back."

 

But that's what Lexa did. When she was young. And now she is paying for it. She squints into the bleak darkness of their kitchen from her position on the couch. It's lit only by the brightness of the television, and she sees someone. Not a someone. Something. Floating above their counter and spinning and spinning and spinning.

 

The back of her neck prickles. For some strange reason she awaits cold hands. Expects wet cold fingers to press into her back and push her. She doesn't get that. She gets Clarke's warm breath puffing against her skin as another ghost pops up on screen.She swallows the odd disappointment to bask in the affection, closes her eyes and leans into Clarke, comforted and loved.

 

The movie ends and Clarke floods the apartment with light. Even their balcony is lit, twinkling and homely from the fairy lights. The lights are harsh and Lexa has to blink slowly to stop her eyes from hurting. But the light is also soothing. The spinning silhouette is gone. In place is Clarke twirling and dancing in the kitchen as she whips up supper.

 

Lexa chuckles and joins right in.

 

 ----

 

 She remembers so much more now. She remembers exactly how the houses would wobble and lean when the storms hit. She remembers that there were exactly five ways to get to her home from the sea shore, and seven ways from the edge of the forest. But that's just bits and pieces of something so large. She can't remember where she lived other than how to get to her home from that forest in the middle of nowhere.

 

 Lexa lived beyond the sea and beyond the forest. It floats in her memories, foggy and unclear, hazy from the years gone by. She misses it sometimes, when there’s a small moment of silence for her to actually remember. Now she lives in an apartment with her girlfriend. An apartment that looks over the city’s skyline, that has windows, that lets in the morning sun in the perfect angle, that has wooden floors perfect for Clarke to dance on in her socks. She loves it all. But Lexa misses the eternal fog and the black waters and how there's always something in the corner.

 

There were planks, she thinks. If you are brave enough to wade through the choking smog and black water. Thin strips of wood barely able to hold the weight of a human. They stretch out far and away from humanity. Nobody’s actually ever found their little community. No one will. Not if you weren’t born there in the first place. If you walk long enough in the forest, you’ll find yourself standing on the black sea. That’s where she lived. In a tiny village built with stilts and planks and so much love.

 

Lexa remembers running and giggling above the water, looking back at the disembodied head. _Costia_. Sweet and kind and so silent. She remembers the matted hair and blood. She also remembers her smile.

 

But Lexa doesn't remember how to get there from the city. The forest could be anywhere. Even the black waters. That could just be something she's conjured in her mind.

 

Even so, Lexa thinks to bring Clarke there one day, if she ever manages to broach the subject. She's certain that Clarke will think her insane.

 

Sometimes, in between writing proposals and work, she tries to imagine how they'll get there. Navigate the forest, perhaps. It’s safer, maybe. With enough water and food in case the forest decides to be mischievous and makes them walk for days. She thinks Clarke won’t believe her if she ever told her about her childhood. But she wants to bring Clarke anyway. She misses her family, misses Anya’s rickety little home on stilts filled with knives and daggers and bones, misses the ever present fog and all the dark figures standing just beyond her periphery.

 

\----

 

She slips her journal into Clarke's bag one day. Her free day, when Clarke leaves to her studio and she spends the day reading. She likes those days - they're peaceful and quiet and neither of them have to worry about work.

 

Lexa spends the entire day reading the same paragraph. Her mind races and back-pedals. It conjures up a galore of possible outcomes, each of them getting from bad to worse. In the end she gives up trying to predict the future and tries to hold on to happier memories.

 

The ache and itch gives her a respite, but the ever elusive figure remains firmly in the corner of her eye.

 

 

Clarke’s childhood is pretty, and clinical. Like everything in this new world she lives in. Two parents, Abby and Jake, a suburban house with bicycle rides and top grades and internships. Nobody believes in anything in this new world. She thinks Clarke may believe her though. Hopefully.

 

She loves Clarke.

 

But even their first meeting felt scripted - Clarke tripping and crashing into her at a sidewalk. Three streets past her old apartment. She remembers everything about that day.

 

"You're the one who couldn't even look up from her phone to walk," she had said, sopping wet from the drink Clarke had spilled all over her. And Clarke? Clarke was laughing.

 

"And you're the one who- oh my god you look like a raccoon." The face Clarke had was torn between beyond amused and apologetic. And it was that moment that Lexa knew her life would change

 

Sometimes she wonders how she would have phrased it if she could go back in time to change it. She was shy and awkward and everything came out harsh. Maybe she would have apologised and stuttered. But maybe Clarke wouldn't have offered her a coffee as an apology. And maybe they would have gone their separate ways, never to meet again. She likes to think that their souls are too connected to let that happen.

 

But everything else about Clarke isn't scripted. Not the way she rasps and talks and laughs. Not the way her nose scrunches up when she gets annoyed. And definitely not the selflessness ingrained in her soul. She hopes Clarke won't leave.

 

Clarke returns that afternoon, paint sticking to her fingers and staining her shirt, holding a bag of take-out. She kisses soft and gentle and Lexa expected everything but that.

 

They talk well into the morning. Clarke's face is heartbreaking when Lexa talks about her nightmares and the missing blocks in her childhood. There's a determination in the furrow of her eyebrows and the way she holds Lexa that night.

 

\----

 

Lexa knows her birthday is coming up, and she knows Clarke is planning a surprise. There's a palpable tension in the air, with her dreams and stress getting to her, and Clarke running around getting things in order while trying to hide that she's doing just that.

 

Clarke's side of the bed will be long cold by the time Lexa wakes - and it's unnerving because she often wakes up before the sun has a chance to rise. There'll be a muffin on the table, along with some tea, and a little handwritten card with a reason.

 

The reasons get more incredulous as the week goes by.

 

\--

"Babe, there's a patient who is in urgent care, his hand is stuck in a teapot. Will be back early tonight. Love you." Beside the message there was an adorably drawn flower with the words "Have a good day" written along its stem.

 

"Raven managed to set fire to her hair. Gotta save her, love ya <3" With a background drawing of a cartoon fire enveloping cartoon Raven, all drawn with highlighters.

 

"Our neighbour found a pot of gold, Im going to steal some. See you later! I love you." And a leprechaun, a blonde leprechaun that looks very similar to Clarke's cartoon persona, grins back at her from her spot on the post-it.

 

She folds all of them neatly and adds them to her growing collection - filled with other doodles from Clarke, on napkins and scrap paper and newspaper clippings.

\--

 

Lexa wakes up on the day of her birthday disoriented. She wakes with a start, heart palpitating, into darkness. A quick check of her phone certifies that she has officially turned twenty-three. Clarke shuffles, disturbed by the movement, and tries to pull Lexa in closer.

 

"Babe?" Her voice is thick and drowsy. "What time is it?"

 

She tries to reply, but there's a lodge in her throat and she's still trying to grasp onto the tail of her dream. Instead she passes her phone to Clarke, who barely opens her eyes to squint at the screen before slamming them shut and burying her face into her pillow with a groan, the phone forgotten.

 

"Happy birthday baby," she greets, muffled, "now let's sleep."

 

Lexa turns, presses a kiss on the side of Clarke's head, breathes in the soothing scent of her soap, and stares straight at the hazy figure squatting beside their bed.

 

It stares back, what seems to be its eyes glowing at her.

 

She blinks.

 

Once.

 

Twice.

 

Three times.

 

And it's still there. Silent and motionless and just, there.

 

The gnawing between her ribs splutters and stops. The more she stares at it the quieter her head feels. But it's disappearing, slowly, edges fraying and willowy, just like her dream. At some point she falls back to sleep, and the next time she wakes up Clarke starts off the birthday schedule with birthday sex, and everything is forgotten.

 

Almost.

 

There's always something watching them. And for some reason she's more comforted by that than afraid.

 

 

\----

 

"Do you." Clarke swallows. They're both nervous, and emotional. And the guilt Lexa feels triples. "Do you want to try getting home?"

 

The emotions playing on her face must be evident, because Clarke draws in closer, soft and careful, as though she is dealing with an injured animal - and flashes of two-headed baby deers appear in her mind before fleeing. The blue of Clarke's eyes floats back into focus.

 

"I've heard stories, from when I was young, about what's beyond the city," Clarke says. She takes a slow breath, an uncertain smile on her face. "If nothing else, it'll be a fun camping trip. Just you and me, and the romance of the great wide unknown. How about it? Let's try to find your home."

 

The prickle in her eyes begin to morph into a sting. But for that moment the itch in her chest ceases. She tries to stop her voice from wavering, tries to clear the lump in her throat.

 

"You are my home, Clarke." It's true. Clarke, even with her splotchy red cheeks and messy, tangled hair, is her home. She never needs anything more than Clarke.

 

But Clarke is offering her more. To find her childhood, find answers. To find Anya and Lincoln and Gustus.

 

\----

 

Her birthday is quiet and peaceful, just the both of them, in their little apartment filled with light and love. The entire day is emotionally charged, and they spend majority of their time close to the other.

 

She gets a painting for her birthday, it's murky and grey and the majority of the piece seems to have been covered by a fog. But it's everything to her. There's an accuracy in the way the painting seem to move, courtesy of Clarke's talent. She cries a lot and kisses Clarke with tears streaming, salty and sticky and snot-filled.

 

The painting gets hung up above their headboard. And for the first time in a long while, Lexa doesn't get her dreams. The looming presence seems to have pulled back, and all Lexa can see and feel is Clarke. She's going home, with her safe haven.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to get to Lexa's childhood. A little teeny bit of Clarke's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's much shorter, and mostly a filler chapter. And I still have no idea what's going on.

Clarke, she. She's not going to lie, the very first page of the moleskine journal that Lexa gave her already had her reeling in shock.

  


Words jumped out.

 

_"I have constant nightmares..."_

 

_"I have visions..."_

 

_"I think I'm going insane. I await the next time something stares back..."_

 

_"Maybe I'm not crazy... I think it's my childhood... memories..."_

 

_"Last night's nightmare was perhaps the scariest one of all. I saw faces and things that I'm sure should never exist. But to me the scariest thing is that they give me comfort. It's almost like I'm home..."_

  


—

 

Clarke is a city girl, her heart is filled with science and art and everything she can understand. The journal Lexa slipped into her bag is not something easily understandable. But if there is one thing she understands, it's that she knows her girlfriend must be terrified, or curious, or both.

 

And she'll be damned if she doesn't help Lexa. She loves her. She'd do anything for her.

 

Immediately, she scraps the painting she's been trying to finish for Lexa's birthday. It's too bright and abstract, with lines and happy colours. No. The ideas are all right there, in the journal. They come in the form of Lexa's sketches, hastily added, with clumsy strokes. But there's also an assuredness in the way Lexa attempts to portray the fog and how there's something just under the surface of the water. The sketches are bleak, and Clarke knows that even if it weren't in black-and-white, the trees and leaves in some of the sketches wouldn't have the same vibrancy that the city's nature provided.

 

There's a longing in Lexa's words, and in the way she tries to hold onto the memories.

 

And Clarke knows exactly what she'd paint for Lexa.

 

— —

 

She makes sure their friends know that the both of them, she and Lexa, want a quiet birthday celebration. Just the both of them, she reiterates. Of course there were grumbles, but they've all seen how tired Lexa looks lately, and agrees she needs some time off from, well, basically everything. Clarke promises them a celebratory dinner after Lexa feels better. It'll be big and loud, like the group, and full of alcohol.

 

However, she enlists the help of the group, especially Bellamy and Raven.  


"She's my bro," Bellamy says, "let me help." And Clarke laughs, because Lexa hates it when Bellamy calls her his bro. But she lets Bellamy carry the humungous canvas from the art shop, lets him drive her to the many, _many_ shops. Mostly because she's lazy.

 

Raven scoffs at her when Clarke asks for help welding a little trinket for Lexa's necklace.

 

"I'm a mechanic," she boasts, "the best one there is. Not some little jewellery maker."

 

But still she guides and teaches Clarke. She makes Clarke wake at ungodly hours to meet her at the forge - a forge at the secluded part of the city, and she has no idea how Raven found it in the first place. The forge is tattered and definitely a couple of decades old, but Raven works in it as if she built it herself.

 

Clarke wants to consult Raven, the smartest person she knows about everything she’s been experiencing with Lexa, about the strange results that come up when she searches about it on the internet, but there’s something in her, telling her that it is not the time.

 

In the end the necklace looks pretty amazing, and Raven asks for a kiss as a reward. They laugh it off and Raven solemnly tells her to go to her if anything happens. When anything happens.

  
  


Clarke ends up making Lexa cry a lot on her birthday. She begins to feel awful but Lexa repeatedly assures her that they are happy tears. Even so, Clarke tries to distract Lexa from her nightmares and stress and gets very nervous about the final present - her painting.  


Lexa tells Clarke that she is her home, and there is no use in trying to stop the tears from flowing.

 

She really wants to help Lexa get home.

  
  
  


— —

  
  
  


Lexa applies for an unpaid leave, even though technically she's the head of the place.

 

But even though she may be the boss, there are a board of directors she has to answer to - a group of annoying old men who question everything and anything that isn't to their benefit. One of them, Titus, is grating and Lexa doesn't believe he's meant to be part of the board of directors anyway. He questions every single one of her decisions and tries to pretend it's for the good of the company.

 

Lexa sees a flash of black and grey around his bald head and silently thanks the spirits when he quietens down, allowing her to end the meeting.

 

Indra, her secretary, who is basically her mother in acting - full of support and comfort and stoicism - glances at her journal when she's packing up, and nods at her. There's something very knowing in her eyes, and Lexa surprises herself by giving Indra a hug. It's quick and light and they're both rigid and awkward when it ends.

 

Lexa doesn't look back as she leaves the office. She holds her satchel close to her and allows the itch in her chest to guide her back to Clarke. She knows she will return, someday.

  


It feels like déjà-vu, the way she leaves.

  
  


 

Clarke is home, already packed and planning, even though their trip is a week away. She smiles from her seat at the kitchen counter, and the way the sun glows behind her makes her look as though she has a halo, pretty and inviting, and Lexa wants to drown herself in Clarke. She unceremoniously dumps her satchel and coat by the couch and goes to Clarke, winding her arms tight and just breathes, quiet, loving.

 

When their muscles grow stiff and achy from their position, they shuffle into the bedroom. Lexa toes off her socks, shimmies off her pants, and melts into bed. Clarke wraps her up in blankets and comfort, and they both settle in, comforted by each other’s presence. She blinks up at the ceiling, watching the shadow swirl and float. At the back of her mind she hears voices, but she pushes them away - even her own voice telling her to take a shower.

 

The sky shifts from blue to pink to purple in gradients, and Lexa brings their dinner into the bed.

 

She showers the next morning instead. And changes the sheets.

  
  
Lexa spends the next couple of days packing and unpacking and packing. There's only so much a person can bring on a camping trip to find something that may not exist. She researches the different forests and beaches outside of the city, scours through pages of search results, and finally settles on a forest relatively close to the sea - approximately a two day drive from the city’s edge.

 

There is a small town not far off the forest - it’s marketed as a beach town, a resort, for travellers looking for some peace in summer. But the website is old and useless, only providing three links to wikipedia pages and a tiny, pixelated picture of the entire town. At the back of the town she sees pixelated fog, and some semblance of a forest, and her skin prickles. It seems dreary and nothing like the fake beach resorts in the city, where humongous lights are surreptitiously placed on the high ceilings to mimic th _e_ summer sun, even in winter, but she gets excited anyway.

 

She finds only two reviews for the town, and one of them is from a user that claims he went for the “ghostly experience” and came home rewarded, while the other is a spam message.

 

Clarke looks at her with those eyes, when she prints out an article about the mystery of the forest, and Lexa wants to cry.

 

— —

 

“We need to buy and pack a whole ton of food,” Clarke comments. She sits cross-legged by the front door, staring at the two measly bags, and has a pen sticking out of her mouth. Lexa feels the excitement of the trip building, and there’s a strange sting in her eye, making her blink more often. It’s probably due to the shadow that chases her everywhere, but she’s grateful for its presence.

 

They leave in two days and Lexa has never felt more nervous than when she had to ask Clarke to move in with her. Between the both of them, the stress is enough to flood the entirety of the city.

 

She realises she has not replied Clarke, but Clarke doesn’t seem to notice, lost in her own world, furrowed brows and chewing on the tip of the pen. Lexa opens her mouth to reply, when Clarke continues, “we can go tomorrow. Some dried food. Ooh, maybe some gummies, and snacks. We need a lot of liquid…”

 

She leaves Clarke be, to fret and mutter, retreating into the kitchen to brew some tea for the both of them. The shadow doesn’t follow her. And when she glances back she sees the shadow crouched by Clarke. It’s almost as if it’s trying to soothe her, and the pride Lexa feels is bubbly and light.

 

— —

 

“You know,” Clarke says, later that day, in bed and warm and half asleep, “there’s no logical way that houses can be on the ocean. The sea is fucking deep, how will the stilts even reach the seabed?”

 

She leans against Clarke, pondering. There’s no easy way to explain something she barely remembers or even understands. Lexa knows that Clarke won’t push for an answer, but she is desperate for Clarke to fall in love with that home, that concept of her childhood.

 

“It… it defies physics.”

 

Clarke snorts, “no shit.”

 

“It really doesn’t. We are going to be walking from the forest, and it’ll feel like we’re walking in circles, but before you know it you’ll be standing on water.”

 

Clarke doesn’t reply, and Lexa shifts, awkward.  Even the figure that has been crouched by their bed, still and motionless for always, shifts. The jerky movements of the figure’s fidgeting is as hilarious as it is creepy, and Lexa wants it to revert back to its unmoving state. She tries to rephrase her explanation. “It’s probably in a different dimension? Like the upside down?”

 

“In stranger things?”

 

“Yeah, it’s something like that. But there’s no portals, I think.”

 

“That’s cool,” Clarke says, and Lexa swears she sees the figure nod at her, pleased.

  
— —

 

The trip to the grocery store is quick and for once Clarke doesn’t linger for long in the snacks section. They stick to the list Lexa draws up, and is checking-out within fifteen minutes of being in the store.

  
  


Neither of them have much sleep the night before they leave. She stays up, holding Clarke, and flits between anxiety and excitement. Beside her, an array of bright orbs are whizzing about, around them and around the figure and around the shadow in the corner. Clarke doesn't seem to notice them, and Lexa isn’t sure if she is imagining the fog that has somehow settled in their bedroom. Together, they watch the sun rise, and there’s something crawling under Lexa’s skin, whirring and itching.

 

She fiddles with the the loose thread on her sweater as the lift descends, checks and rechecks their bags when they load the car, and picks at the loose thread on her sweater when Clarke drives. Her heart hammers away, as she watches the skyscrapers of the city recede.

  


The edge of the city is grey and sparse, guarded by toll-gates and walls and empty roads. Guarded from what, Lexa isn't sure. There's practically nothing outside of the city other than a few small self-sustaining towns barely able to survive. The worker that opens the gate for them to pass through, is fighting sleep, a half-hearted salute as they drive off.

 

The forty-eight hours spent travelling goes by relatively quickly. Other than the occasional pit-stops at petrol stations - that seem to be farther and farther apart -  and trading seats to drive or rest, all Lexa feels is the overwhelming sensation between her ribs. It’s unexplainable, the ache and yearning that spreads and recedes. Clarke plugs in her phone and plays pop songs that Lexa doesn’t know the words to. They play stupid games and watch the the stars at night.

 

Lexa thinks nothing can beat the beauty of Clarke in the glow of the moonlight.

 

Once in a while she will glance at the rear view mirror, and she will see someone, something, with its legs missing, waving, on the road, floating but not floating. But she will blink. And the person will be gone.

 

— —

 

Clarke is asleep, in the middle of the night, when Lexa’s heart clenches, and she feels a strange tug in her chest. The road ahead of them is covered by a dense fog. It’s not the same fog that appears in the city occasionally, but neither is it the fog she remembers from her childhood. She tries to squint through it, but the headlights on the car barely pierces through the fog.

 

The tug in her chest grows more vigorous. And Lexa knows they are close. She drives on, hears the crunch of the gravel under them, and sees the shadows of the trees. She thinks that there's a familiarity in the way the trees huddle together.

  


— —

 

Even so, it takes them a couple more hours to reach the small town that they had planned for. Clarke stretches in the morning sun, blinking the sleep away, as Lexa turns into the town, and they both chuckle at tiny street.

 

And it is tiny. A ghost town, she thinks, and almost chuckles at the word choice. A two-lane road that leads to a small parking lot, with three small buildings on each side of it.

 

She parks the car in the carpark, checks the car keys in with the receptionist of the “resort”, and the few residents in the town stare at them when they say that they are going into the forest for a camping trip.

 

With a final check of all their belongings, they turn towards the forest. Even from afar, the forest looks daunting, dark and looming. They hear a nervous shout of “good luck!” And Lexa knows that none of the residents in the town believe they will make it out alive.

 

Beside her, Clarke beams, hand in hers, and Lexa feels so ready for home.

 

She feels close to home. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no clue what this is, sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> [here's my tumblr @ravenrxyes if you wanna send hate mail or love letters or spam i accept anything lel](http://ravenrxyes.tumblr.com)


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